Equilibrium (4 page)

The boy’s baseball cap in the old photo caught her eye first, then the smile with the curved dimple set to the left. The boy was sitting next to a girl propped in a hospital bed with a bandage covering her lower arm. Laura read the caption:
Resourceful thirteen-year-old Boy Scout, Aidan Walsh, saves ten-year-old sister Anna’s life by applying a tourniquet after girl puts arm through a glass door.

Well, that said it all. At the age of thirteen, the younger version of the man sitting across from her must have gotten permanently hooked on life and chose to spend his days, and nights, saving lives. The precipitating event. She took a second glance at the photo, and then passed the clipping back to Aidan.

He regarded the photo with fresh interest before putting it back away.

“So you keep the old photo to explain to curiosity seekers why you chose emergency medicine?”

“Well, sure, it works okay for that, but mostly I keep it to remind me.” He sipped his coffee, and she waited for clarification.

“Say on a day when I’m getting burned out, the magic is lost from it. It’s like, oh heck, not another blunt force trauma. I haven’t had my lunch break yet.” He tapped his pocket. “Take out the photo to remind me the woman on the gurney is more than an injury or disease. She’s someone’s mom, a daughter, maybe even a goofy little sister. Then I’m right back there in a world of wonder, and nothing else matters.”

A world of wonder. Not the kind of eloquent speech she’d expected from a young guy, even a doctor. “So how’s little Anna doing?”

He grinned. “Arm works great. Got a free ride to UMass on a softball scholarship. Swings a bat like a pro.”

He stood, pantomimed a killer swing, and then held his hand like a visor, gazing past the sun’s glare at the fast-moving softball. “Yup, over the wall again! Go, Anna!” Aidan Walsh was a proud older brother and a physical storyteller.

His unbridled enthusiasm spilled over, and she couldn’t stop smiling as she riffled through the application, looking for his current and past housing situations. He was staying with a couple in Greenboro he’d listed as friends, and until a few months ago, he’d been living with a woman in the North End of Boston. Probably his love interest, although he’d left the relationship line blank. Unless this Kitty—God, she hated that name—was a platonic housemate. She went by a different last name, but these days, that didn’t prove a thing. Laura tapped the blank line next to Kitty’s name. “Kitty is, was, your wife?”

He shook his head, and the exuberance drained from his face, as if Laura had siphoned it out herself. “Girlfriend.” He drank down the rest of his coffee. “So, yeah, I figured I’d rent in Greenboro for a while, see if this is the kind of town I’d like to settle in before I look for a house to buy, put down roots. I visited my old college buddy Finn here a couple of years ago, really liked it, but it wasn’t the right time. Things changed, and then I got an offer from Memorial, so I just had to jump, take my chances.”
Bing, bang, boom.
He spilled the rest of the story, no longer inspired to drag out the details. This Kitty must’ve been quite a girl. Where had the spirited storyteller gone? She wanted to lure him back onto the stage of her kitchen.
Encore, encore. Tell me more.

He pushed away from the table and stood. “My cell phone number’s on the app. I like the apartment. Think it’ll do fine. Why don’t you call me when you decide? Just leave a message.” He took his empty mug to the sink, rinsed it, and set it in her dishwasher.

He rubbed the back of his neck and turned to meet Laura’s gaze. “Were you really looking to rent out the apartment? I mean, before I showed up and interrupted your chopping?”

“I told Elle I’d talk to you, but no. Not quite yet.”

“Yeah, got that impression. Guess we can both thank Elle. She’s kind of—how can I say this? Pushy.”

“Pushy?” That sounded about right. He backpedaled. “In a real good-natured way.”

“Oh, sure. It’s a compliment.”

“Maybe
friendly
would be a better word.”

“No, no. Stay with
pushy
.”

He stifled a chuckle and rubbed at his chin again in what she now recognized as a nervous little gesture, a sudden shyness. “So, um, call me when you decide. Okay? Either way.”

They went into the mudroom, and he leaned against the wall, worked his feet into his mud-caked boots. He hunched over, tightening the dirt-striped laces into snug bows as endearingly off-center as his dimple.

“When would you want to move in?” Saying the words hollowed Laura’s center, as if she were free falling.

“Right away. Finn and his wife have been great, but I’m sure they’d like the slob to get off the couch and give them back their living room.”

Slob, huh? She tried picturing Aidan’s scattered belongings. Lug-soled work boots with graying laces peeking out from beneath the sofa skirt. Medical journals. Photos of his family sprinkled across his unmade bed. She preferred everything neat and tidy, yet for some inexplicable reason the idea of this man’s strewn belongings in her home soothed her.

She inhaled down to her toes, but her lips still quivered. “I’ve decided.”

He nodded. “I understand. Thanks for showing me the apartment.”

“You can move in. Today.” Her heart was pounding through her chest wall, unused to spur of the moment decisions. Sometimes you just had to go for it. Wasn’t that what her daughter always said?
Oh, come on, Mom. Just go for it!
Besides, who could say no to an emergency room doctor with such sweet eyes? She doubted she’d discover anything off-color about this guy through further digging. She considered herself a good judge of character, and first impressions usually proved themselves accurate. Besides, she could really use the money.

He stopped at the side door and turned around, a big grin leading the way. “Really? Are you sure? I mean I wouldn’t want to be pushy.”

She nodded, getting the joke. “In a good-natured kind of way.”

“Well, thank you for the compliment.” He checked his watch. “What time works for you?”

Oh, heck. She still had to drop Jack’s tax returns at the post office and pick up a few groceries at the market. Then there was the matter of hauling Jack’s furniture into the shed. “I have a few errands,” she said. “And I’ll need to clean out the studio.”

“I’d be happy to move your furniture for you. Finn and I could empty the place, oh, I’d say, in about thirty minutes, if you can wait till five o’clock. I need to go spring my stuff from storage.”

“Five’s perfect.”

“Great. It’s a date then.” He offered his hand to seal the deal. This time, he let go first. She followed him out the door in her socks, and the cement step iced the soles of her feet. She crossed her arms against the cold.

Aidan jogged across the driveway to a midnight-blue Toyota pickup, then turned back around. “Bye, Laura! See you at five!”

She nodded, hoping he wasn’t looking at her. A wave of prickly heat struck, as if she were still a shy fifteen-year-old. Whenever a cute boy spoke her name, she’d blush painfully, embarrassed by thoughts of connection.

Now she stood on the cement steps watching Aidan Walsh climb into his truck, shuffle in his seat, and slam the door shut. He keyed the engine, rolled down his driver’s side window, and hung his head out the window. “Nice meeting you!” He smiled, showing the full depth of his lopsided dimple, before ducking back into the truck’s cab. The pickup bumped to the edge of the driveway, and Aidan waved out the window, palm exposed in her direction, signifying both an ending and a beginning.

Chapter 4

A
n unfamiliar old sports car sat in Laura’s driveway, and she pulled up alongside it. A few scraps of robin’s egg blue, reminiscent of more colorful days, remained against the canvas of matte gray. Two tremendous fuzzy dice hung from the rearview mirror. A joke, she hoped, not some boy’s earnest attempt at decorating.

Many times, Laura had cautioned her daughter about the dangers of fast-talking boys with fast cars and even faster hands. Many times, she’d come home and found Darcy with a new boyfriend in her kitchen. And many times, she’d reminded Darcy about the no-friends-without-a-parent-home rule.

One more time wouldn’t kill Laura. But Darcy better watch out.

Laura slammed the car door, then hurried to the side of the house. She held her breath as she turned the key and exhaled when the door swung open and the sound of Heather and Cam wafted out to greet her, along with the static of a radio station that never came in right. At least her daughter wasn’t alone with the owner of the pile of rust parked in her driveway.

Laura jiggled her keys to sound the adult-in-the-house alarm. “I’m home!”

Laura kicked off her boots harder than necessary and carried the grocery bags into the kitchen. She tossed her handbag onto the table and headed for the faint sound of wheezing. On the far side of the kitchen island, Cam was tickling Heather into oblivion. Heather curled up into herself and left nothing showing but her light blond hair blazing across the floorboards.

“Enough, Cam!” Laura said. She came around the island.

Cam removed his hands from Heather’s armpits. She leaned against the cabinets, catching her breath and swiping at the tears washing down her cheeks.

“Hey, Mrs. Klein.” A blushing Cam kneeled and tried to help Heather up.

Heather swatted at his outstretched hand, sprung up unaided, and turned on the for-adults-only charm. “Sorry about the mess.”

Bits of crackers and chip debris lined the countertops, evidence of a hastily consumed festival of carbohydrates. Two glasses of homemade soda—Laura saved the real stuff for birthdays—stood guard to the crumbs. Seltzer and juice rose up through the bendy straws, dribbling orange onto the countertops. Water gurgled in the teakettle, quickened to a rolling boil. Two waiting mugs held drifts of untouched cocoa, the brown powder coming to rest at identical angles. Darcy only drank cocoa when she was near freezing to death.

“Hot chocolate?” And two mugs. Soon, Laura would meet the owner of the barely blue wreck parked in her driveway.

“They’re cold,” Heather offered, getting a thinly veiled look of warning from Cam. Between Darcy’s two best friends, Laura always pieced together the truth.

“Who’s cold, honey? Darcy and a friend?”

Heather’s pale lashes leaped up to meet her brows. “Uh-huh.”

The last time Laura had found her daughter cold enough for cocoa, they’d earned a visit from Officer Keith Holmes, come to explain how trespassing and skinny-dipping on private property were prosecutable offenses. She doubted that would be the charge today. What mischief had Darcy gotten into this time? And where was the boy?

“Cam? Where’s Darcy?”

Cam’s gaze darted to the door of the guest bathroom.

Laura listened for her daughter’s voice, uncovering the thump of clothes in the dryer from behind the closed door. Darcy was not in the habit of doing the wash when she had friends over. At least Darcy wasn’t upstairs with a boy. Laura’s pulse pounded in her ears. As if the bathroom were a more suitable place for her daughter and a strange boy.

The kettle shrieked, mimicking Laura’s internal pressure gauge. She flipped the switch to off and poured water into the mugs. Stirring the cocoa did nothing to slow the boil. Laura marched to the bathroom door, then rapped on the frame. “Darcy, are you in there?” Laura jiggled the door handle. Locked.

“Just a minute, Mom.” Darcy’s muffled giggle filtered through the door. The rich tone of a boy’s whisper reminded Laura of Jack’s seductive voice seventeen years ago. Three weeks after Laura had buried her mother, Jack had invited her for their first secret as sin student-teacher conference. Behind the closed door of Jack’s university office, rug burning her back, she’d thought he was exactly what she’d needed.

Were Darcy and the boy naked on the other side of the door? She released the doorknob and put her mouth up to the interface of door and frame. “Open the damn door!”

Laura nabbed the turkey lacer from the kitchen island.

After she disengaged the lock, she’d use the utensil to lace the boy’s zipper shut.

Please, Darcy, don’t do this. Don’t give a part of yourself away you can never get back. Especially not like this!
Did Darcy think so little of herself?

Had Laura?

Eyes moistening, Laura aimed the turkey lacer, ready to jab the lock, and the door swung open, revealing her fully clothed daughter and—

Her late husband.

Heat slapped her cheeks. Her hand flew to her mouth. She blinked.

Not her late husband, but the owner of the heap on wheels, was tightening the belt of the light blue terry cloth bathrobe Jack had left hanging on the door hook over a year ago. Laura’s hand drifted from her mouth, and she fisted her hand to cover the shaking.

The boy grinned. Unlike Jack, his smile showed off the deepest dimples Laura had ever seen. Clad in nothing but her late husband’s bathrobe, the boy didn’t have the common decency to appear the least bit embarrassed by his inappropriate behavior. Exactly. Like. Jack.

Time for the turkey lacer.

 

Was it too late for Darcy to plead make-out amnesia?

She was expecting her mother to get home soon, but she’d lost track of time. Mom clutched the turkey lacer, the tool she’d use when Darcy and Troy were little and had accidentally locked themselves in the bathroom.

Today, Darcy had locked the door accidentally on purpose.

Mom tilted her head toward Darcy. Her lips trembled into a smile, then relaxed, trembled, then relaxed. Now Nick was staring at Darcy, too. His entire face seemed ever so slightly distorted. He double-knotted the belt on the terry cloth robe.

Daddy’s robe.

What the hell was she thinking? She should’ve shrouded Daddy’s robe in shrink-wrap, kept it in cold storage. How could she explain some strange boy wearing her father’s bathrobe?

Nick placed a hand on her shoulder. She was supposed to say something, she just couldn’t remember what.

Nick took a step toward her mother and offered his hand.

“Hi, I’m Nick.”

Mom raised the turkey lacer to waist height, paused, and then switched it to her left hand. She shook Nick’s hand, accepting nothing. “Mrs. Klein, Darcy’s mother,” she said, heavy on the
mother
.

“Thanks for the loaner robe. Darcy and I got carried away. It was really all my fault.” Nick splayed his right hand over his heart. “Couldn’t resist starting a snowball fight. My jeans weighed a ton wet, so Darcy said I could use the dryer. She was helping me figure out the settings. My mom, she kind of spoils me, still does my wash and all.”

Nick played Mom just right, nodding until she joined in. Thank goodness he hadn’t told her mother the truth. That they’d walked out onto the lake while the temperature hovered above freezing.

Mom tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Well, that’s what moms do.”

Nick flashed Mom one of his best grins, the kind reserved for getting out of detention. “Yeah, she’s pretty incredible.”

Nick’s praise for his mother must’ve completed his trick. Mom replaced her rocky-road grin with a for-real smile until Nick started for the kitchen. Mom shook her head. “Oh, Nick. Go check the dryer, please. I’m sure your clothes are dry by now, from the snowball fight.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, and ducked back into the bathroom.

The way she emphasized
from the snowball fight . . .
Why didn’t her mother trust her? Mom took her self-satisfied smile into the living room. The clank of metal against metal meant she was stirring the woodstove.

Cam and Heather were waiting in the kitchen with her cocoa, just what Darcy needed to clear her head. She snatched up a steaming mug and raised it to her face, breathed deeply until she fooled her tongue into tasting chocolate before sipping for real. Heather and Cam munched through a second sleeve of Stoned Wheat Thins.

Nick came out of the bathroom. The pockets of his faded jeans showed off two not quite dry splotches.

Heat pulsed Darcy’s face even as she shivered. She swiped at the perspiration beneath her damp hair and glanced over at Nick. He hid behind his steaming mug and winked so quickly she wasn’t sure if she’d imagined it.

Was she blushing? She’d need to have a talk with her body about giving herself away. Nick didn’t need to know her every reaction, how she wanted to take him by the hand, bring him straight to her room, and let him do what she’d put off for the last three boyfriends. That hadn’t stopped the boys from bragging about what they’d done, after they’d dumped her. Like Daddy had always said, never let the truth get in the way of a good story.

Darcy sputtered on her cocoa, dribbling onto the kitchen island. So not cool! She wiped her face with her hand and touched her fingertips to her swollen lips. Nick had kissed her hard, pressing her between the warm thumping dryer and his warm thumping body. He wasn’t afraid to let her know his every reaction.
Don’t go there!

Nick’s shoulders hunched in a shiver, and he set his mug on the counter. He came over to Darcy, pressed her face between his cocoa-warmed hands. “I think I’d better go home and figure out my grandma’s dryer.”

Heather put her glass in the sink. “I should go, too.”

“Don’t leave.” Mom had scared off Nick, but Cam and Heather were used to her mother. Besides, Mom was actually nice to them. She probably liked them better than Darcy.

Cam jumped to standing. “I’ll walk you home,” he told Heather, but gave Darcy a wide-eyed warning. Okay, she got it. He wanted to walk Heather home, even though she and Cam lived on opposite sides of town, and Heather didn’t need an escort.

“I could give you both a ride,” Nick said before Darcy could stop him.

“Sure!” Heather raced for the door.

Darcy rubbed Cam’s shoulder, mouthed
sorry
, before he chased Heather out the door to Nick’s car.

“I can’t believe you’re leaving me alone with the drill sergeant,” Darcy told Nick. She put on an exaggerated pout, but the fake expression made her stomach sink.

At the door, Nick glanced over his shoulder to make sure her drill sergeant mother wasn’t around. “See you in school, pretty girl.” He gave her a quick peck on the lips, and then leaned his forehead to hers. He crossed his eyes till she gave in and laughed.

When Nick’s car rumbled from the driveway, she went back to the kitchen and sipped the last of Nick’s cocoa. The grainy liquid slid lukewarm down her throat.

Mom came into the kitchen and frowned at the crumbs on the counter. “Where did Cam and Heather go? I thought they’d stay for dinner.”

“You scared them off, along with Nick,” Darcy said, and chewed the cocoa’s chalky dregs.

“Really, Darcy?” Mom stared at her, then sighed. “Since you insist, I will reiterate the rules you’ve broken. No friends over when I’m not home. No riding with a boy, or anyone, without prior permission. And no locking yourself in a room with a boy.”

“We weren’t doing anything,” Darcy said, which could’ve been true. They weren’t doing more than she’d done with other boys. Except for the part where Nick’s hands had wandered under her shirt, and she’d let him—her cheeks tightened with heat.

Mom peered into her face, and Darcy turned her head.

Two sharp knocks sounded from the side door. Mom headed to the mudroom, shaking her head. Mom’s voice greeted visitors, and then the overwhelming scent of artificial pine tweaked Darcy’s nose. A hint of ginger softened the horrid cologne. A man’s voice thrummed the air. Her mother’s giggle reached around the corner, a wind-chime’s laugh Darcy hadn’t heard for at least a year. Her too-serious mother rarely joked. Mom acted more like an old lady than a woman in her mid-thirties, as if thirty-five wasn’t ancient enough.

Mom peeked into the kitchen and hooked a finger in her direction, and Darcy swallowed down the last of the chocolate dust.

Two guys stood in front of the door to Daddy’s studio. Guy number one Darcy nicknamed Hollywood—a tall paparazzi-worthy piece of eye candy. Guy number two was definitely the wearer of the pine stench. With a blaze of hair and a matching copper beard, Red stood a few inches shorter than Hollywood.

Of course, her clueless mother probably hadn’t even noticed the hot Hollywood guy.

Mom used her private-with-other-people-around voice. “Do you remember us talking about renting out the studio?”

“Yeah-ha.” Hollywood caught her staring. He raised a hand in greeting and shot her a half smile.

Mom touched Darcy’s cheek till she redirected her attention to her mom’s eyes. “I found a tenant. Dr. Walsh, the taller man. He’s moving in tonight,” Mom said, and Darcy followed Mom’s gaze back to Hollywood.

Mom nodded. “His friend is here to help him move in. You okay with that?”

“What?” Darcy said, right when she finally understood. Mom had rented out Daddy’s studio. Which was weird since Mom had acted as though Daddy still needed the space. She’d even bought him a new futon last week. Darcy understood what her mother was saying, but it still didn’t make any sense. “That’s great, Mom.”

“Really?” Mom said, and she broke into a grin.

“Whatever, I—”

“Let me introduce you,” Mom said, using her formal voice to summon the guys. “Darcy, this is our new tenant, Dr. Walsh.” Mom turned to Hollywood. “This is my daughter, Darcy.”

“Aidan, Aidan’s fine.”
You’re telling me.
Aidan shook her hand, pumping three times and revving up his smile.